Thursday, April 26, 2018

Kit Kelen #846 - ANZAC Day


846
ANZAC day


in a trench of rain
saluting death
an out-of-empire experience

the day is local to us
otherwise, how here?

shall we nostalge a war then?
wrap me in this flag of theirs
where we believe we are

'emotional and moving scenes'
was this not upon us?

but no!
it comes again!

service for sacrifice
for just-like-Jesus
you won't know who did

blood in the trench
are ghosts to drink
it was for king and God

the zombie limbless of us lost
ghosts on the march
for one more day

in a week of rain
with bugle
send me a biscuit, that's all

breast pocket bible
tobacco tin
life saved

who's a statue now?

digger!
a baptism!

it was like this when a first sky fell
we gathered the stars to be

there's profit in this reverence
how politics is left

across the wide frontier
who lost?
who has a hundred years?

send some George or a kangaroo
to show we know you care

wounds are well beyond the grave
takes a minute the silence

then let's pretend Australia
that it's a common wealth

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Thirty Summers #127 Claine Keily

My mother phones. She speaks of carpets cleaned, clutter moved then moved again. She urges me to sweep my fingers over floors even when I am sleeping. It is your job she says to lift up the dust the instant it has settled. When she asks about the weather, so as not to make her jealous, I lie and say the skies are grey.

Kit Kelen #845 - in the madhouse


845
in the madhouse 
 

here's shit woman
always offering

go out on something soft you won't feel
into a box in the ground

here's the screamer
and the one who scolds
the one who'll take your food

sullen nurses are all the world come
because we placed a dollar lovely
in this trap
wars are to flee, you know

you have to have wished a way here

we are only visiting
we're a silence

none will remember my cruel remarks

the only test is the code

we're only visiting

like truth to its acre
far far off
the better things we do

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Kit Kelen #844 - people of the book

844
people of the book 
 

take pages from the dictionary
so that those things are gone

the one with the aeroplane
now all wings are birds'
and less than them
and angels

all affection is out
aestheticism
the whole affair

we were once
dwelling in this thought
that was an inkling us

things are true because you dream

tunefully, that was
in hours before beginning

comes like a wound truth
crackle comes through
the who-we-are is deep down

scratch it comes off
shines medals
flies a flag
salutes

and forward!
with the ways about

as if it all once were written
so that is the why

in back and forth time
like stars to a darkness knit

we know ourselves full of light

Monday, April 23, 2018

Kit Kelen #843 - west, pinking for it



843
west, pinking for it


lovely in the last light
April all around

warm Sunday
in the after falls

and grey
so lines have drawn

the light that lets
the yellow in

the light that lets
the brown

and all around
the forest green

this is the garden's
beginning on me

Rob Schackne #642 - "In Kodachrome"


In Kodachrome

green I left my keys


make it blue but

magnify the seas

there's no moon

the colour of dreams



Sunday, April 22, 2018

Rob Schackne #641 - "One map"


One map


got off

of sound

not place

bounded

the ears

the face


and now

where did

I put it


    
    * 

Kit Kelen #842 - because a world was this way misted



842
because a world was this way misted

and I shone to see

wrongs and woes
by all means

set off
gave it a rest

tomorrow gone
here now

because this world was
wished to be

and only half a guess
expanded and contracted
though rarely so spelled out

gone wrong
set right
careering
like fire off rails
with bushflake's
chance in snow

in heaven the big picnic
all blue because of up
all green with grow about

all of us collecting
sun and moon
and round me forested
things tumbled to me here
and then a penny dropped

because a world was slowly then
and easy does it now
so turn
be facing

leaves fall into this world
dust blows

in orbit all around myself

because a world
was this way misted
and I shone
to see

Kerri Shying R # 446 once a year a fulfilled promise ( for Judy J)


you died   you were the first
cucamelon on the vine  
my always  memory
of everything
going right

once a year  a fulfilled promise

unfailing hot pink spikes
arise inside  the
dinosaur strap leaves 
bromeliads green libraries
 of the world

Rob Schackne #640 - "Lord, all islands must soon learn to fly"


Lord, all islands must soon learn to fly
gold seams and the roots trailing
their water wells and mysteries
like a plumber's bad day at work
we watch it go, the writer's tears
the promises that went desperate
not soon but too soon, my love
sending blessings to ourselves
my love, we said farewell
the birds will teach them
migration, magnetism
the tricks of moving through air
a new faint sound of music
a poetry of another road
they will be invisible


Saturday, April 21, 2018

Kit Kelen #841 - we want more



841
we want more

loaves and fishes
life eternal
more truth to set us free

we want more hours in the day
more moments
like this one to share

more quality time

more chocolate
more beer

sturdier scales
a longer tape

more kisses to send us to sleep

more to be stroked
more brimstone to forest
more heaven above

we want more of a good thing
more of too much

we want more dots to join
more of a jolly good guess

a more blissed mist
more blessings

more gold

this one sun was never enough

we want more forgiveness
more redemption
always more to confess

more stretch
more lift
more in the larder

more witches to burn
more to the sword put

we want a longer sentence

more of a raft to cling

life can't be eternal enough
we want there to be more of us
we grow into the job

more light
more time

it's as if we know the dark is still far

but one more push
and I'm in

Kit Kelen #840 - in a pumpkin mist


840
in a pumpkin mist

this silver morning
cooler in the after fall

trees pale sketching
fenceposts for practice

so sing
from a pond
when - wings away -
all eyes lift
with this fright

come insects of another season
and we are otherworldly then

where every flower
speaks to seed
if only we'll let rot

now fire thinks of us
and all the corners call
thin disc to see for it's-not-moon

it's only then we're struck with
to see our works and days
a setting off for up above
where heaven's just

as clouds grow to their own confusion

now all the sun's collected
in a pumpkin patch come blue